


Spit It Out

by that_which_yields



Series: Smut Central [7]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Aftercare, Angst, Blindfolds, Bondage, Checking in, Consensual Kink, Hurt/Comfort, Impact Play, M/M, Unrepentant Man Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-03 13:34:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1746515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/that_which_yields/pseuds/that_which_yields
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trowa sees him twice, and only twice. When Duo greets him at the door and hands him the blindfold, and when Duo slips the blindfold from his shuttered green eyes and walks soundlessly out of the room. That is the game they play. Bound, blind, and helpless.<br/>(2x3, BDSM play)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amberly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amberly/gifts).



> This is a present for my beloved friend Amberly, who has been having a rough week, but has still managed to send me love and snuggles during my own rough patch. It was supposed to be smut, but somehow angst always gets in the way when Amberly is involved. Sigh. 
> 
> Song Inspiration (by request) was Spit It Out, by IAMX.
> 
>  
> 
> Here thar be bondage and gratuitious smut.

“It breaks my heart that we live this way,” Duo murmurs.

He circles the bed, trailing one hand across the sweat-dampened cotton of the sheets. He doesn’t get an answer – he doesn’t expect one. A response would indicate that the ear plugs are slipping, that the man bound spread-eagled on the bed can hear him. That isn’t the game they play. Trowa sees him twice, and only twice. When Duo greets him at the door and hands him the blindfold, and when Duo slips the blindfold from his shuttered green eyes and walks soundlessly out of the room. That is the game they play. Bound, blind, and helpless.

A frustrated whine leaks from Trowa’s lips as Duo’s fingers tiptoe across the rungs of his ribs, stark against his scarred skin. Trowa twitches, but can’t move away from the teasing touch -  Duo is an expert at tying knots, particularly ones that are difficult to undo, and the rope he chooses has very little give. Duo should be pleased. This is one of his favorite views, his lover stretched out beneath him, a bandana tied tightly across his eyes, ear plugs ensuring that the only sense Trowa has is touch.The braided man’s lips press together until the skin whitens. He doesn’t know how much longer he can do this. It started out so carelessly.

Duo slipped into his assigned safehouse one night during the war. G hadn’t notified him that he would have company, so the dark shape in the kitchen startled him. The surprise was mutual, and Duo dove to the side as a throwing knife sank half its length into the frame of the door. The braided man rolled behind the couch, slipping his knives from his boot, hearing the slow footsteps emerge from the tile onto the thin carpet of the den area.

“Identify yourself, or the next blade goes through your skull.”

Duo rose to his feet, hands extended, knives dangling between the fingers of both. “02.”

Trowa eyed him warily, a second paper-thin blade still balanced in preparation to throw. After a long moment, he lifted the bottle of whiskey to his lips and drank, the knife vanishing somewhere into his clothing. His throat moved as he swallowed, a grimace crossing his thin face at the burn. Duo raised an eyebrow, bending to let his knives slide back into their boot sheaths. Trowa peered into the mouth of the bottle, lips twisting in something like disgust.

“No one was supposed to be here,” Trowa commented quietly, his voice admirably level for a man who had apparently downed half a bottle of alcohol.

Duo scuffed one boot against the floor, weighing his options. He was exhausted, weary down to his bones, but he damn well didn’t want to be trapped in a safehouse with a potentially unstable Gundam pilot. Even if that Gundam pilot happened to do strange and interesting things to his libido. He had always been drawn to Trowa, to the challenge of his quiet strength, to the intriguing notion of that solemn face and what it might change into when unhinged with pleasure.  

“I can go if you wanna be alone,” Duo offered.

Trowa hesitated, a shuddering breath echoing through the room. He shook his head, violently, and it was then that Duo noticed the sheen of salt trails on his cheeks, the dampness of his spiked eyelashes. The braided man stepped forward involuntarily, drawn by the pain etching itself across Trowa’s hollowed face. He reached for the bottle, managed to pry it from Trowa’s long-fingered grip.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Trowa’s empty hands clenched around air, tightening until the knuckles whitened and blood leaked from his palms to redden his nailbeds. He dropped his eyes, unable to meet Duo’s steady gaze. “There are… there are so many moments where I’m just overcome. How can I be a soldier if my past makes me so weak?”

Duo watched as he crumbled to the ground, the crack of his knees hitting bottom audible even through the muffle of the carpet. A small, calculating part of Duo’s brain took the time to appreciate that Trowa looked damn good at his feet, even as broken as he was. Duo didn’t do broken. But he did find himself doing an excessive amount of repair work. Fixing people wasn’t so bad. Especially not if they let him fix them in the way he preferred. He could give people so much freedom when they let him tie them up.

The braided man dropped to one knee beside Trowa, his hand drifting casually to the acrobat’s shoulder. The skin beneath his fingers twitched as his touch triggered a crack in the pilot’s usually stoic façade. And suddenly, Trowa crumbled, curling into himself like an imploding building, a low keen growing in his chest and rising into a howl of pain. Duo heart ached as he gathered the other man into his arms, startled by how closely skin sheathed bone. Something must have been eating the man alive, for him to have been that thin. It was a wonder that he could pilot his Gundam at all.

“War breaks everyone. It doesn’t make you weak, it makes you human. When will y’all just realize that having emotions is normal?”

The silence stretched, holes punched through the weight of it by Trowa’s stifled sobs. He didn’t lift his head, didn’t unfold his collapsing frame. He didn’t indicate that Duo’s presence was making any difference at all.

Finally, he spoke, voice scraped raw over the gravel of breaking. “I just want the screaming in my head to stop.”

Duo tucked a hand beneath Trowa’s chin, lifted it until their eyes met. Desperation flickered madly in the depths of Trowa’s tear-brightened orbs. His body twitched as if his muscles were beyond the feeble remnants of his control.

“I can stop it. But I can only replace the noise with silence. And you have to trust me.”

It started with earplugs. With Trowa falling bonelessly into his hands as the rubber slipped into the shells of his ears, with a sort of divine peace dawning on his drawn and pale face. Duo recognized the expression – in his world, they called it submission. And he was willing to play these games with Trowa. Willing to dance the line between comrade and lover, willing to play the sadist in order to soothe the need for pain constantly lapping at Trowa’s skin. He had played priest before, let people break themselves on the altar of his body in order to find some sort of catharsis.

But this isn’t his past. And Trowa isn’t just anyone. Their arrangement could only stay platonic for so long before Duo started to recognize the familiar signs of falling. Trowa enjoyed the game, threw himself more than willingly into Duo’s hands. He agreed to every new suggestion that Duo offered, never turned down the opportunity to go deeper down the rabbit hole with him. And Duo… he manages a smile as he flicks his wrist, as the crop just barely kisses Trowa’s thigh. Trowa jumps in surprise, body arcing as far as the rope will allow, and a shocked yelp bursts from his lips.

Duo loves watching Trowa’s body move beneath him, adores how easily his skin marks. Even now, a red spot rises to the surface of his skin, even with such a light tap. Beautiful. The sunset paints the room gold, gilding the fine lines of Trowa’s body, and Duo has to stop for a moment as his heart clenches. The man is so goddamn stunning. A work of art. And his poetic thoughts almost make him nauseous as much as they scare the shit out of him. This is romantic language. This isn’t ‘let me tie you up and fuck you,’ this is ‘let me make love to you on a sleepy Sunday morning and then cook you breakfast while you recover.’ This is ‘let me tie you up and fuck you, and then let me fall asleep in your arms as I rub the rope patterns from your wrists and whisper how perfect you are for trusting me.’

Jesus Christ. He could fling himself into a gorge for letting himself get this far into the danger zone. This wasn’t part of the plan. He snarls to himself and snaps the crop again, this time leaving a harsh, livid welt across Trowa’s hipbone. The bound man flinches, his mouth opening in a silent ring of surprise and bliss. The upper part of the blindfold wrinkles, Trowa’s eyebrows drawing together underneath it in a silent plea for more.

The anger beats in his ears like steel wings, hazing his vision red. Stupid of him, to fall for someone who is just playing a game. Stupid of him, to dare to love someone who only wants him for the marks he can leave on skin, for the violence he can inflict on a willing victim. He barely registers the careless flicks of his wrist, the red patches rising livid across Trowa’s body. He notes the heaving of Trowa’s chest, pauses to ascertain that the racing of his pulse is from pleasure rather than fear or overstimulation. Trowa’s thighs are checkered with welts, a line of red marching down his ribs and across his hipbones. Duo follows the trail of his handiwork, over the ripple of Trowa’s abs, between the twin peaks of his hipbones, across the gleaming tip of his erection. He pauses there, running the crop through the rivulets of sweat on Trowa’s torso. One finger grazes the tip of Trowa’s cock, drifting down his length, following the vein to the base. A muted moan trickles from the acrobat’s lips.

Duo lays the riding crop next to Trowa’s bound body, his eyes narrowing. He can see the blood flickering in Trowa’s throat, heartbeat fluttering against his skin. And yet… his hand splays across Trowa’s chest, fingers crawling across the planes of his muscles. He tweaks a nipple, quickly, the dusky skin flushing with the pressure. Trowa’s shudder of response is delayed, subdued, his whimper of conflicted protest and encouragement barely audible.

The braided man shakes his head slightly, disappointed with himself. He should have noticed the disconnect earlier. Tugging at the cord attaching them, he carefully removes one of the earplugs. “Status?”

There is no answer, and Duo lowers himself to the bed, peering into Trowa’s face as he lifts the blindfold. A faint furrow appears between Trowa’s eyebrows as the lamp hits his light-starved eyes, but he doesn’t blink. His face is smooth with pleasure, corners of his lips tipped slightly upward. Duo ghosts a hand over his cheek, gazing into his partner’s distant green eyes. So far away. He has to be careful not to let Trowa go too far, though the acrobat somehow trusts Duo to be able to bring him back.

“Tro,” he murmurs, voice a soothing rumble in the silent room. “Come back with me. It’s okay. Follow my voice.”

He strokes Trowa’s hair away from his face, leaning over to nip at the skin of his jawline. He presses open-mouthed kisses against Trowa’s throat, catching the skin between his teeth and lapping at it, leaving tiny marks in his wake. Trowa comes back to him slowly, his breath becoming jagged as he registers Duo’s attention, the teeth in his pulse and the hand slowly wrapping around his shaft.

“Fuck,” he groans, his back arching as Duo’s hand tightens in reward for his return.

“Kinda rude for the audience to leave in the middle of a show,” Duo teases, letting his fingers fall open, running only his palm over the length of Trowa’s cock.

“Sorry,” Trowa gasps around a moan.

He arches off the bed as far as his spread limbs will allow, hips bucking in an attempt to find more sensation than the mere teasing of Duo’s callused hand. Duo switches his tactics, dancing his fingers across the crown of Trowa’s cock, watching the man writhe in frustration. Trowa’s hands dig into the bedposts, grasping at the ties that bind his wrists. He tugs at them, tightening the knots until they press against his frantically beating pulse.

A needy whine paints the air with tension, and Duo can’t help but encourage it, wrapping his hand firmly around Trowa’s shaft. His calluses scrape at the sensitive skin, wrist twisting to add the hint of spice that drives Trowa’s body into a frenzy of arousal. The man beneath him bucks and thrashes, limited motion still managing to tangle the sweat-dampened sheets. Sweat beads on his skin, trickling over his torso to glisten between his hipbones. Duo slows his hand, loosening his grip until his fingers barely graze the other man. He waits until Trowa relaxes in resignation, the bound man preparing for a long and tortuous session of almost-but-not-quite reaching orgasm.

He misses the wicked smile that leaps across Duo’s lips instants before his mouth covers Trowa’s cock, swallowing the acrobat’s shaft in one mind-blowing motion. Trowa bows off the bed, a scream splitting the stillness of the room. Duo struggles to keep the smile from interrupting his suction as a stream of expletives flies from Trowa’s usually civilized lips. He very rarely blows Trowa - it doesn’t often fit into their dynamic, as much as he actually enjoys giving head. It’s another part of their arrangement that he would change, given the chance. He wants Trowa unhinged with pleasure just as often as he is shuddering with pain.

He lightens the weight of his hands on Trowa’s hips enough to allow the other man to buck up into his mouth, tightening his throat muscles in response. Trowa claws at the bed, nails scratching furiously at the wood, as his breath comes in pants and whines.

“Please…”

Duo lifts his lips from Trowa’s cock, replacing them with his hand. A filthy leer of satisfaction crosses his face. “Please what?”

Trowa whimpers, eyes squeezed shut as the muscles in his body quickly wind tighter. His feet twitch against their bindings. “Please let me come, Sir. Please. I can’t… I…”

“Come for me, Tro,” Duo commands, sinking the wet heat of his mouth back onto Trowa’s shaft.

His partner pulses, the hardness between his lips swelling in the instant before his climax. He peaks with a near shriek, bed creaking as his body convulses inward, limbs testing the limits of his bondage. Duo rides it out, swallowing neatly, gentling from down from his climax with easy caresses of his tongue and lips. He pulls away, a fond smile lighting his face as he caresses Trowa’s hip.

And Trowa’s head falls from the side, the lines of tension easing from his expression, a sweet, sleepy curve on his lips. “Thank you, Sir.”

It’s the title that rocks Duo from his haze of satisfaction. Always Sir. Never Duo. Never a pet name. Just Sir. Their dividing line, the one that he can never cross. Abruptly, he reaches up to the headboard, usually deft fingers fumbling at the knots. Snarling with irritation, he leans over the bed to fumble in his pile of discarded clothing, grabs one of his hidden knives. He slices the ropes free of the bed, yanking the fragments of nylon away from Trowa’s skin and flinging them into a corner.

“I can’t do this.”

Trowa’s eyes snap open, the post-orgasmic euphoria vanishing in a flare of panic. “What?”

“I want more. I want a pretty white fence an’ a big backyard shed to hide ‘Scythe. An’ yeah, a dungeon in the basement, but I want all that other shit too, ya know?”

A flicker of hurt crosses Trowa’s face, and his voice is very carefully neutral when he speaks. “And you can’t have that with me.”

“Never said that,” Duo snaps. “Just not part of our deal, Tro. You need somethin’ to focus on, I need somethin’ to control. There’s nowhere to go from here.”

“I thought we were more than that.” Trowa rises from the bed, beginning to slip back into his clothing. His movements are stilted, devoid of their usual grace. He keeps his head turned away from the braided man, letting his hair conceal his face. Lacing his boots, he ties them with short, sharp motions, slipping his knives back into their sheaths. “We were for me.”

He slides the blindfold from his head, one of the tattered wartime bandanas still stained with traces of Duo’s blood, and throws it on the bed. It lays between them like a gauntlet as Trowa straightens his body, managing to look dignified despite the rope marks cuffing his wrists. This time it is Trowa who walks out of the room, the door closing behind him with a deafening silence. This time it is Duo left alone, with screaming in his head, and the game is over. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trowa sees him twice, and only twice. When Duo greets him at the door and hands him the blindfold, and when Duo slips the blindfold from his shuttered green eyes and walks soundlessly out of the room. That is the game they play. Bound, blind, and helpless.  
> (2x3, BDSM play)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Porn for Amberly! ~throws glitter~ (even though it was only supposed to be a one-shot and turned into a nearly 6k monster)
> 
>  
> 
> Here thar be the comfort part of the hurt/comfort, bondage, lion cages, and (as always) unrepentant man smut. You were warned.

Duo spends the next three days in an empty haze, trying to fathom a way back into Trowa’s life. The other man has been conspicuously absent, despite their boss’s insistence that he hasn’t been sent on any Preventer sanctioned mission. He won’t answer Duo’s vid calls, won’t answer the messages he leaves. He hasn’t been back to his apartment, not that Duo set up surveillance cameras or anything similarly reminiscent of stalking. Of course not. That would border on obsession.

He hasn’t been able to sleep, other than accidentally passing out at his desk a few nights, since Trowa walked away from him. It’s driving him insane - his brain won’t shut the fuck up long enough to let him think. Where the hell did Trowa go? It takes three days for him to spot a brightly colored flyer in one of the break rooms, for the words Circus! Lion tamer! Knife act! to penetrate the deep fog that encircles him. The circus. Of course. And closer examination reveals that it is Cathy’s circus, the very same that Trowa used as refuge during the war.

Working his way into the maze of tents that form the backstage of the circus takes more than just breezy confidence and stealth. Circus performers are suspicious, protective of their own, and neurotically close-lipped. He’s already had to dive beneath an animal cage, holding his breath against  a heavy musk that reminds him of the unwashed streets of his home colony.  The roar of the crowd provides a quiet background hum, a reminder that Trowa has a home here. Has a purpose here. Has more than Duo ever thought to give him.

He slips into the biggest tent, filled with cages and the scratching of restless animals pacing the confines of their temporary homes. Finding the lions, he leans against the wall and peers at the large cats through the protective iron bars.  One of the maned beasts meets his  gaze,  stares apathetically at him for a moment before parting its jaws in a teeth-baring yawn.  Duo winces,  recalling the favored tricks of the lion tamers. He can’t imagine willingly putting his head between a lion’s jaws. At least during the war, he had his Gundam to protect him when he flung himself into danger.Endangering your brain for a trick just seems foolish.

Duo is occupied by contemplating what type of life crisis would drive him to the desire to encase his skull in an animal’s mouth when he hears the soft pad of footsteps. Jolting upright, he attempts a number of different positions before merely shoving his hands in the pockets of his uniform jacket. A murmur of conversation drifts to his ears, the low rumble of Trowa’s quiet responses in counterpoint to a brighter tone.

“You know I love you, but you can’t hide out at the circus forever! You have a real job and responsibilities. You’re important. Why won’t you just tell me what happened?”

“It’s not important, Cathy. I just needed a break.”

“You know I’m just going to bother you until you spit it out, so you might as well - oh!” The redhead spots him as they round the corner into the animal area, and she instinctively steps in front of Trowa. The cloth she was using to wipe the makeup from her face flutters to the ground, forgotten.

Trowa’s face goes pale beneath his makeup, the bare skin as white as the  half-mask that falls from nerveless fingers to hit the dirt floor. Cathy glances over her shoulder, notes the poleaxed expression on Trowa’s face, and then fixes on Duo with a malicious glare.

“So it’s you causing all of this trouble, then.”

Trowa recovers enough to drop a hand on his sister’s shoulder. “I need to talk to him. I’ll be okay.”

She opens her mouth to protest, settles instead for another hateful glance that more than expresses her desire to use Duo as target practice, and stalks from the tent.  Trowa turns to him , his face still devoid of color, lips pressed together to hide their faint trembling.

“What are you doing here?” Trowa asks, folding his arms across his chest. His eyes narrow slightly as they take in Duo’s appearance - the wrinkled uniform, the shaggy braid.

Duo self-consciously lifts a hand to his hair, attempting to smooth stray hairs into the long plait. He bends to retrieve the abandoned clown mask, stepping forward to offer it to Trowa.“I want more.”

Trowa stiffens, a twist of anger contorting his features.  “You don’t get to decide that. Especially after you decided that you wanted more, but it wasn’t part of our ‘deal’.”  He takes a step back from Duo, managing to snatch the mask from his hand without their skin touching.  “You have no place here.”

“I know that.”

Expecting a different answer, a brassy comment about how Duo’s place is everywhere, Trowa’s anger fades in the face of surprise. His lips part on an exhale of confusion before he gathers himself back into a neutral, expressionless mask. “Then why are you here?”

“I don’t have a place here, or with you. I don’t belong here, or with you. Or anywhere, for that matter. But you offered me a place here, offered me more, and I want it. You can take back your words if you wanna but give me a chance to earn it first. Fair’s fair, Tro.”

Trowa spins on his heel, turning his back on Duo. He pads away, running his fingers along the animal cages, raising a hum from the iron bars and mewls of acknowledgement from the large felines.  Duo remains where he was left, an ache filling  his hollow chest. At least he made the effort. At least now, he can remind himself that he tried to fix his fuck-up. Hell, but it hurts.  And then Trowa casts an inquiring gaze over his shoulder and beckons.  He disappears into a back area of the tent, the flap falling closed behind him.

Duo hastens to follow, hope rising in his chest like a  helium-filled balloon.  He steps beneath the large canvas door, allowing it to thump back into place. The back room is dim, lit only by lances of sunlight, dust motes floating in the brilliant beams. Empty cages are lined up along one wall, props piled in a corner. Trowa brushes past him  and stands by the make-shift door for a moment. A peek at his partner reveals that the acrobat is tying the flap to the wall, presumably so no one will disturb them.

“No one comes back here,” Trowa confirms.

The lanky man strides across the tent, digging through one of the piles. Duo laces his fingers through the tail of his braid, combing the silky strands until every imaginary tangle is gone. Bouncing on tiptoe to try and glimpse what Trowa is doing is fruitless, as the shadows gather in the corners and hide him from view. Trowa returns to his side, a handful of silken ties dangling from his clenched fist. He offers the colorful mass, palm lifted toward Duo as his fingers slowly uncurl. Duo lets his gaze drop to the fabric, measuring the motivation behind the gift.

Duo lifts the ties from his ex-partner’s hand, anxiety knotting in his gut. If he fucks this up, if he loses Trowa now, he isn’t sure what he’ll do. But it won’t be safe, and it sure as hell won’t be good. He steps forward, letting adrenaline sweep through him in an uplifting tide. Sex with Trowa is such an intoxicating sensation, and letting his dominance free of its human cage is like stretching muscles that are always eager for use. His head tilts up, an arrogant smile stretching his lips as Trowa backs away beneath the pressure of his presence. The acrobat yields to his invasion of space until metal bars hit his back with a low thump of flesh.

“Hands up,” Duo orders quietly.

He sees a flicker of disappointment in Trowa’s green eyes, and anger flares in his gut. So that’s the game they’re going to play. Offer rope as a test, to see if he is playing or wants more. Duo suppresses a snarl. He is going to prove it, but he will do it his way. Trowa has a safeword - if he doesn’t want to be tied, he can damn well use it. He tucks the ties into his pocket as he assesses Trowa’s mood, gauging the level of his own anger to be sure of his control. Slipping his hands up Trowa’s sides, he lifts the sweat-dampened fabric of the acrobat’s shirt, grazing his fingers across ribs and muscle. Trowa shivers slightly, chill air and Duo’s knowing touch combining to raise goosebumps on his bared skin. Duo tosses the shirt aside, sweeping a caress over Trowa’s abs before pulling the rope from his pocket.

His hands move absently, without need for conscious thought, separating the silken lengths and finding two that will suit his requirements. The rest he drops carelessly to the floor, unconcerned by the dirt they gather. Trowa raises an eyebrow but doesn’t speak, knowing the game well enough to realize that he would be held accountable for uninvited input. Duo begins to bind his hands, testing the wrap after each pass to ensure that it isn’t overly tight.

Tying off the second binding with a neat flourish, he steps back. “Flex,” he commands.

Trowa obligingly flexes his fingers, rotating his wrists as far as the fabric will allow. Duo eyes him appreciatively, his long limbs stretched across the iron bars, skin still sheened with a thin layer of sweat. After a moment to enjoy the view, Duo steps forward, taking a second to touch Trowa’s fingertips. They twitch, warm beneath his fingers, and he nods to himself. His knotwork is flawless and well-practiced, but it never hurts to check. Especially, he smirks, running his hands along the veins on the underside of Trowa’s arms, when it can lead so easily into so many delightful distractions.

Trowa squirms against the bars of the empty cage as Duo’s fingers are replaced by his mouth, teasing puffs of breath drifted across the sensitive skin on the inside of his arm. Duo moves leisurely around his lover’s body, tongue and teeth nipping at the skin of his chest, torturing his nipples with alternating licks and sharp bites. Meanwhile, his hands are working themselves lower, crawling over Trowa’s abs to slip beneath the waistband of his pants.  He laps across Trowa’s pulse, feeling the man’s heartbeat leap beneath his tongue as his fingers wrap around  Trowa’s shaft.  A low moan leaks from the bound man’s lips, his hips rocking unconsciously, fighting for more sensation as Duo’s hand stills.

Duo sinks his teeth into the soft flesh of Trowa’s neck biting down harshly. Trowa jerks in response, his hips twitching forward once more before his body stills. He is a circus performer - his instincts know to paralyze him when a predator’s teeth are at his throat. The braided man laughs quietly, releasing the skin from his teeth and licking at the bite marks. His hand slides backward, following a long-familiar path, and Trowa arches into him as fingers trace his entrance.

“Please,” Trowa breathes into his hair.

He swallows a moan, his throat pulsing against Duo’s mouth as Duo slips a finger just past the clenching ring of muscle. Duo pauses, hearing a frustrated whine bubble out of Trowa’s chest. The braided man begins a maddeningly slow motion, barely moving his hand, just enough for Trowa to be able to feel the sensation but not enough for the penetration to satisfy. Trowa whimpers, the undulating of his hips ineffective in easing the desire flooding him, unable to force Duo into giving him more.

Duo straightens, staring up at his lover, the other man’s face twisted in frustration. His eyes are clenched shut, mouth parted on the panting moans that trickle past his lips.  Duo slips his free hand over the acrobat’s hips, wrapping around his shaft, providing a tormenting counterpart to the single digit penetrating Trowa’s body.

“Say my name,” he growls, penetrating gaze fixated on Trowa’s face.

Trowa squirms in his grip, desperate for more sensation. “Sir,” he gasps.

Duo tightens his fist, speeding up his motions on Trowa’s cock. At the same time, he shoves his hand forward, sheathing his finger to the third knuckle. “Say my name.

“S… Sir?”

Trowa’s answer is a keen of confusion, his body overwhelmed by the  sudden pleasure, brain fuzzy with relief at the end of the teasing. Abruptly, Duo’s hands still. He pulls his fingers away, despite the muscles clenching around them, and rims Trowa’s entrance with just the barest hint of nails.

“Say. My. Name.”

“Duo,” Trowa whimpers, the word ending on a scream as Duo slips three fingers into him.

Duo begins a relentless rhythm, fingers twisting and curving, searching for the acrobat’s  sweet spot. His other hand sweeps leisurely over Trowa’s shaft, thumb curving across the crown and tracing the throbbing vein on the underside. Trowa’s head thrashes from side to side as  arousal mounts, numbing him to everything save the sensation of Duo’s hands.

His muscles pulse rhythmically around Duo’s digits before settling into a steady squeeze. His fingers claw at the metal bars, breath tearing from his lungs in tattered gasps. Duo leans into him, standing on tiptoe to press their lips together. He runs his tongue along Trowa’s lower lip as he withdraws his fingers, ignoring Trowa’s whine of protest.

Bending slightly, he reaches into his boot and withdraws a slender tube. His other hand unbuckles his belt, unbuttoning his fly and pushing pants and boxers down just far enough to free himself. He trusts Trowa’s assessment of their probable company, of course, but his childhood won’t allow him to take chances. Especially not with Trowa trussed up on the lion cage. Slicking his cock with lube, he drops the tube back into his boot. Trowa watches him with greedy eyes, devouring each motion, tongue slipping out to moisten his lips.

The braided man watches him, not touching, hand loosely slipping over his own shaft. Trowa’s gaze drops, hungrily fixing on his movements. He shifts as much as his bindings will allow, restless, until Duo pins him with a hand slammed into the center of his chest. His throat bobs as Duo moves into his space, as the braided man’s hand slides down his leg to hook behind his knee. Duo lifts Trowa’s leg, hooking it over his hip, leaving Trowa’s entrance vulnerable.

The acrobat’s head falls against the bars with a faint clang as Duo’s crown slips into his body, his hands clenching around the metal. Duo’s free hand grasps his chin firmly and tugs it down.

“Look at me.”

Trowa’s eyelids flutter open, blinking rapidly, and struggle to remain that way as Duo rolls his hips, testing Trowa’s readiness. Duo rewards him with a brief kiss, letting his hand drift until it rests across the slender man’s collarbones. A faint pressure is enough to have Trowa’s eyes rolling back in his head. Duo snarls, repeating his order even as his hip undulate, making Trowa work to hold his gaze through the fuzz of pleasure.

Trowa sags in his bonds as his knees give out, the silken ties and Duo’s grip on his thigh all that are keeping him upright. Gravity tugs him toward the ground, sinking him further onto Duo’s cock, sending his cries of pleasure skyrocketing in volume. Duo chuckles through the exquisite sensation of Trowa’s body sheathing him, managing to keep his movements consistent despite the swamping tide of pleasure.

The braided man braces himself on the cage, thrusting faster into Trowa’s yielding body. He feels the telltale clench of muscles, Trowa’s breath coming quickly in his ear, and squirms a hand between them to grasp the acrobat’s cock. His palm is still slick with lube, and slides easily over the pulsing shaft. Trowa’s gratified moan is the best aphrodisiac he’s ever had on his lips, and he can’t help answering with an answering snarl of arousal.

The air heats, sweat beading on bared skin, Trowa’s limited movements becoming jerky and ungraceful. His voice is strained when he gasps out a plea. “Sir, Duo… please may I come?”

“Look at me,” Duo growls as Trowa’s lids are drawn shut by the closeness of his climax. When the glitter of green is visible again, he buries himself deep in the taller man’s body. “Come for me. Now.”

Trowa’s back arches on a scream and Duo grits his teeth, holding back his own climax through sheer force of will. Every pulse of Trowa’s muscles, the jet of cum leaking over his hand, the eroticism of Trowa’s face twisted in pleasure, threatens to break his control. His movements slow, aiding in his step back from the edge, waiting for his partner. His lover. Trowa catches his breath gradually, his chest still heaving with exertion. His eyes cloud with confusion as he feels Duo rocking within him, still hard.

“Duo?”

“You’re mine,” Duo whispers, leaning in to press the words onto his lips.

His hips undulate, the motions gentle. He doesn’t need rough. He doesn’t need the trappings of masochism to mask the body beneath him. He needs more. And this, this is so much more than he could have dreamed. He strokes the back of his hand across Trowa’s cheek, careful of his damp fingers, smiling as the man leans into his caress. His climax comes with quiet intensity, forcing him to suck in his breath as he involuntarily stills, seized by the unexpected power.

Their foreheads touch, both men paralyzed by what lays between them. Duo releases his grip, lowering Trowa’s leg to the floor. Their bodies separate, a sigh shared between their lips at the unwanted but necessary divide.

Duo’s breath hitches at the unusual sensation in his chest, a combination of terror and overwhelming contentment. “I love you,” he murmurs, awe in his voice. Possessiveness taints the words as he repeats his earlier claim. “You’re mine.”

Trowa’s weary laugh flickers against his bangs. “Always.”

 

 


End file.
